Resurrection's End
by CrimsonPrincess101
Summary: Blaise Zabini is in trouble and he knows it. After discovering Voldemort had created another Horcrux, he finds himself subject to it, carrying out Voldemort's plans. But will he succeed or will Voldemort's plans take another path? Please read and review.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters.

**A/N:** I dedicate this chapter to **iDaringx3** and **Lola Kristy**. =]

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><p><strong>Chapter One The Beginning<strong>

'Fool!' Voldemort, or rather the remains of him, hissed scathingly.

A man was on his knees before him, trembling and quaking in fear. Even though Voldemort was nothing more than the Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes, he was still powerful, killing from behind his walls and he still instilled undeniable fear amongst what was left of his followers.

Ever since Harry Potter had finished him off, his followers had all been rounded up; all except for two: Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. He knew better than to rely on Draco Malfoy so he sought Blaise Zabini, a man whose family had served him from the beginning of his reign.

Blaise Zabini now bowed before the cabinet, his heart pounding against his ribcage. 'I'm sorry, my lord.'

'I _told_ you to get me the Sword of Gryffindor! Is it possible to fail such a simple task? I will remember this, fool, and deliver punishment as I see fit. Retrieve that sword and do not fail at any cost,' Voldemort snarled, his snake-like voice emerging from the depths of the Cabinet.

'I won't fail again, my lord,' he stammered.

'Leave!'

Blaise needed no further instruction and left the dark and musty shop. He straightened up, patting down his robes, as though nothing had been going inside the shop. He hurried through the dark alleyway, desperate to reach a populated area.

As he stepped into the busy streets of Diagon Alley, he muttered and cursed himself. 'What have I gotten myself into?' he cried softly. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He needed to focus.

He knew that the Sword of Gryffindor was hidden within Hogwarts, but getting inside without arousing suspicion was the only problem.

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><p><strong>One Week Later<strong>

'Ah, Mr Zabini. Come on in,' Professor McGonagall said kindly, inviting Blaise into her office. 'Now, Mr Zabini, I do understand you want a job here at Hogwarts? What area are you hoping to teach?'

'Either Potions or the Defence Against the Dark Arts,' he replied without pausing to consider. He had thought about the subject choices. Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts were the only two subjects that allowed him to roam the school grounds freely without arousing suspicion and they were also the only two subjects that he happened to excel in.

'Well, your OWLs for these two subjects are exceptional – Outstanding in both subjects. I'm afraid that our Potions position is unavailable and if you are hired you would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Professor McGonagall warned him, peering at him intently over her reading glasses.

'You have a clear disciplinary record apart a few slight arguments,' here she pursed her lips, as though she was recalling the fights he had encountered, particularly with the Gryffindors. 'I must say though, you must discard your prejudice.'

Blaise nodded nervously, feeling a strange feeling crawling up his spine as her eyes focused on him as though they could read his mind.

'I will be expecting you on the 1st of September, ready to teach.' She indicated that he was free to leave and furiously began to complete the paperwork stacked in a pile over a foot high.

As he left the Headmistress' office, he felt a strange feeling creep into his heart. Joy? Regret? Guilt? Relief? He couldn't place a finger on it, but it was something he had never felt before. He shook his head. Now was not the time to worry over such insignificant issues; he had someone to report to.

The rusting, once golden bell clanged dully as he pushed open the rotting wooden door to Borgin and Burkes. Blaise stepped inside with a tentative air, unwilling to awake the sleeping snake too quickly. He approached the Vanishing Cabinet (it was now stashed away at the back of the storeroom), and knelt before it, his eyes staring fixatedly at the ant hole in between the floorboards.

'My lord,' he said softly, beads of sweat threatening to break through his pores.

'I'm expecting good news,' the voice hissed dangerously. Blaise shivered. He knew it was impossible, but he felt as though Nagini was slithering all over his body, around his neck and resting on his shoulders; a spy for Voldemort.

'I've been accepted as a Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, my lord.' Blaise cringed slightly. He could hear the desperation and hope for Voldemort's approval, something he certainly could do without, not that he wanted his anger either.

'Good, good,' Voldemort hissed. Blaise could imagine him smiling, his snake-like nostrils stretched thinly across his face. Somehow, he knew that Voldemort wasn't really praising him. 'I shall be expecting success September 11th.'

After that, the Horcrux fell silent and Blaise took it as a sign to leave. He was in trouble. He knew that when he first heard the notorious voice seeping out of the Vanishing Cabinet a little over two months ago. But what choice did he have to obey? Voldemort could still manage to perform magic in the form of a Horcrux – he had seen it in action before.

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><p><strong>September 1<strong>**st**

'First years, this way please!' Hagrid's all-too-familiar voice roared over the top of the loud, energetic voices of the students. Blaise departed the train with the other students, who were all decked with school robes. He smiled wryly; it was somewhat nostalgic, seeing all the excited first years and remembering he used to be just like them.

'Oi, Zabini!' He turned to see Hagrid waving his hand enthusiastically in his direction. 'Looks like we're colleagues now, eh? Who would've thought I used to teach yeh, eh?' Blaise smiled grimly at him and climbed onto a carriage. It was no secret that he thought of him poorly and there was no point in renewing their relationship.

A small, gloved hand grabbed his arm, stopping him abruptly. He was about to mutter a string of foul insults until he found himself staring himself into the face of Miss Know-It-All. He stumbled on his words, a little astonished on how beautiful she had become. Hermione had grown out of her frizzy hair, into cascading waves of glossy brown curls that were matched perfectly with her pointed face and chocolate-tinted eyes.

'So you've had a change of heart,' Hermione said delightedly, her hand withdrawing from his arm.

'Uh… I guess so,' he replied nonchalantly. They were both well aware he and his group of Slytherins shared a similar sense of detachment towards the school.

'I'm glad that you're teaching here. We are going to be colleagues,' she continued, clutching her shoulder bag.

'You're teaching here too?' he asked, a little surprised. He had thought that she'd go onto saving the magical creatures and other silly disadvantaged creature that had ever existed.

'That's right. Muggle Studies. And I split classes with Professor Binns. And you teach?' she inquired, as the carriage pulled away, heading towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

There was no more to be said. Even after the supposed downfall of Voldemort, there had never been one teacher who had remained in that job for more than a year. The job was cursed.

**At the Feast**

'I am happy to introduce a new teacher to our school. Professor Zabini will be filling in the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the relieving teacher for Potions. He will also be the new Head Teacher of Slytherin house so please make him feel welcome.'

Applause broke out from around the walls with whoops and cheers erupting from the Slytherin table. Blaise stood up and bowed slightly, accepting the applause graciously. He felt a little proud to be on the stage, especially holding a position with such a power. But when he saw Hermione Granger beaming enthusiastically at him, he felt guilty, knowing that he didn't request the job out of a good heart.

McGonagall's voice brought him back to reality. 'I only have two words to say to you. Tuck in,' McGonagall declared graciously, opening her arms wide, invitingly. Almost at once, food you could have ever imagined and dreamed of appeared along the tables. It wasn't until then Blaise realised how hungry he really was. He dug into the food happily, enjoying every bite, every sip of the buffet. _Just one night, _he thought a little desperately. _Just for one night, I will have fun._

That night, Blaise tossed and turned in his four-poster bed. McGonagall had called him to her office, but upon arriving he had found the large room empty. Even after waiting hour after hour, she didn't turn up. Bored and curious, he explored the room and that was when he found an adjoin room hidden behind Dumbledore's portrait. Behind the portrait was something he had hoped to find; something he needed to find; something he _had_ to find and it was none other than the Sword of Gryffindor.

He approached it breathlessly, feeling drawn to its power and rich heritage. He lifted the glass as it was sealed in, picking it up and cradled it in his arms. 'Finally,' he whispered triumphantly. 'My lord will reward me.'

'Put the sword down, Zabini.' He swivelled around his shock, completely unaware of another's presence. The person approached him furiously, wand at the ready. 'So that was your true intention,' the person snarled. He was unable to identify who it was, but he thought, he thought that the person was female.

But before he could take his wand out from his robes, she had already uttered the fatal Unforgivable Curse.

Blaise sat up quickly, his eyes darting back and forth to realise that it had all been a dream. He lifted his sheets and climber out bed, realising that he was completely drenched in sweat. But he couldn't remember what happened, what he was so afraid of but that fear was the one thing the dream had left him. He poured himself a glass of Rosmerta's finest mead, placing his hand unsteadily on the table.

'Just a dream,' he reassured himself.

'Just. A. Dream.'

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><p><strong>AN:** Please Review =]


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